''look, the snow, the stars in January, just for you..."

no idea no idea no idea no idea how I still find energy for it all.

at the pale office I have stomach cramps as I hear questions asked with the assumption that I am a heterosexual woman, yet everyday at 5 pm it occurs to me that it's not that bad after all. only from time to time I get struck by the astonishment that it is actually possible for me to work there and not go crazy.

on Fridays there is beer, drag queens and J., a girl two years younger than myself. we come from different worlds, lead divergent narrations and use codes that are incompatible – probably this is why I'm so attracted to her. plus her smell.

on Saturdays I have gender studies: we read Sarah Kane and watch Ghost in the Shell. I find myself in extremely pleasant states of mind.

my pants stink of tobacco and there are pieces of chocolate all over my laptop.

I turn too shy when I'm near the pretty O., so I trick her to get her phone number; this gives me hope that I'll meet her not that accidentally one day.

I see my father rarely, so his depression seems to fade away to me, then I meet him and I feel guilty again.

I cuddle up to my mother on those rare days when I'm with her.

I call my sister very often with lots of laughing but not much sense; there is no content between us, but I keep up the form so that the bond doesn't get broken.

the snow looks unearthly when I get back home drunk at 3 am. intact, so special, and kitschy.

I talk to gay men who are strangers to me and I get very little sleep.

and I can't stop any more, I've given up reflection a long time ago. in this hum and hurried activities I keep the low murmur constant. this won't give a chance for the deeper thoughts to come to the surface.

not much contact with myself, which is I probably I feel so good.

the carnival stylistics has always had magical influence on me.